[b]Raft Gang![/b]

The thing about placid, still water is that it's horribly, [i]horribly[/i] obvious when something breaches the surface for a moment. [i]There's something in the water.[/i] And here you all are, halfway across, the Storm rumbling ominously in the distance, watching as fins and writhing tentacle-frills breach the water, coil after coil after coil following. Jackdaw: the word is [i]pack[/i]. No, a [i]swarm;[/i] that's what you call a group of eels. No, no, they're more sea serpents... but maybe they're very clever cephalopods, instead? You'd need a closer look to find the right word, and, unfortunately, it's looking like you're going to get one.

Is this the revenge of the Flood? Did she stir these eyeless things up from her depths? Or is this a depraved indifference, a decision not to lift a driftwood finger as the parasites in her waters seek to drag you down and devour your bones? And, when you get down to it, is there really a practical difference? The propulsion's clogging, and the waters all around you are writhing, and the boards Coleman put together are starting to buckle. Coleman: if you don't do something, and fast, you're going to be going down to meet the Flood a lot sooner than you'd like.

Then one makes a eight-foot vertical leap, clamps its jaws around Ailee, and begins to flop back into the water, lashing out with its toxic tentacle frill. Ailee: paralysis from exposure to toxins is certain within the next thirty seconds.

Lucien: things may be looking bad, but at least they can't come at you from all directions simultaneously, and they don't try to hamstring you while their friends try to peck your eyes out, so at least you're still doing better than if you'd tried to go into the Houses of Parliament.